


Games of the North

by LittleToastyMom



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Game of Thrones AU, Magic, Slow Moving, first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-02-08 15:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12867270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleToastyMom/pseuds/LittleToastyMom
Summary: She would be his, his Red Wolf, his Queen. Let them try to make her a weak fish, he would show them the wild beauty she was meant to be, and he would prove himself to her in the games.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Just a heads up that this is my first fic, ever, so pardon any rookie mistakes. If anyone would like to beta, please let me know, it’s going to get a bit steamy, so keep that in mind!
> 
> And I own nothing except a vague idea of the plot!

Chapter 1

 

No one knew when it began, like most of Westeros’s most beloved traditions the source of it had been lost to the tides of time. Once a decade, the greatest fighters of the realm would gather at the seat of power and battle for supremacy, with a contest lasting no less than 30 days. According to the Maesters, a little over 400 years ago the contest lasted three full turns of the moon, the longest contest since the time of the First Men.

 

Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and descendent of the First Men, beheld the arena below him. The Dragon Pit, a massive structure that once held the dragons of the Targaryen empire, was an imposing structure of an era long since past. Located just outside of King’s Landing, the reigning seat of power for the unified kingdom of Westeros, it looked as though it could easily seat all the peoples of the city, with room to breathe. He let out a sigh, hands grasping the low stone wall at the top of the arena, and gazed down to the dirt floor. At a respectable age of 4 and 30, this would be his last turn as a participant of the Grand Tourney, a fact which he could not tell if it pleased or saddened him.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing up here Ned?” King Robert Baratheon gazed at the visage of his oldest friend, taking in the slight wrinkles around his eyes, the gentle stoop of his broad shoulders and the long length of his frame, bent nearly in two for his inspection of the arena floor from the highest level of the pit.

 

Straightening quickly, Ned turned to bow. “Just checking the arena, Your Grace.”

 

“Come off Ned, don’t you go bowing to me now. Save that shit for the pompous bastards of court. Fucking useless, the lot of them.”

 

Unable to hold back his laugh, Ned shook his head and grasped his friend's arm in greeting. “Good to see you haven’t changed a bit Robert. How fares the Queen, Prince and little Princess?”

 

With a grunt and shake of his head, his disdain clearly read, Robert managed to answer with a grumbled “Good, good... Damn woman won’t stop shrieking about everything. Appointed her brother to the King’s Guard, maybe that will make her quiet. If she’s not coddling the children, then she’s trying to take my hearing with her shrill voice.”

 

With a grimace Ned could only nod, unable to offer any advice for him. His own wife was much quieter in her displeasures. As soon as she knew Ned was participating this year, Catelyn had made her opinion very clear with a cold and empty bed when he had retired for the night. Catelyn was a gentle Southern lady of Riverrun, a region not known for their fighting prowess. She barely tolerated the North’s yearly games, and refused to view the great games entirely.

 

“What of your own bride? I hear you’ve had another daughter, and already put another in your wife’s belly! She keeps you nice and warm on those cold northern nights, ey?” A quick knock with an elbow and a lascivious grin are all Robert can manage before a small voice pulls the men’s attentions.

 

“Father!”

 

“Robb! What are you doing here? Where is your mother and Septa?”

A rather gangly auburn haired boy of 9 came to a stop before his father, bright blue eyes glittering with mischief. “Mother is with Sansa, working on their sewing, again. Septa Roslin is with Arya taking a nap! Is this the Dragon Pit? It’s so big! Are you going to fight? Is that why Mother is sleeping in Sansa and Arya’s bed? Why-“

A gruff “Robb!” Was his only answer.

“Yes Father?”

“How did you get here?”

A small foot started to scuff the ground, a small face scrunched in a forced look of innocence. “Jory brought me.”

Loud guffawing drew the attention of the two Starks. “Uncle Robert!”

Robb received a quick scuff to the back of the head before he executed a quick bow. “Uh, I mean Your Grace.”

Robert waved him off. “None of that now, lad. How’d you manage to escape all the way out here?”

A sheepish Robb ducked down his head, mumbling his answer. “I... exploring... tunnel... skulls... camp.”

Sharing a confused look with Robert, Ned knelt down and tilted his son’s head up. “Speak clear and do not mumble Robb. Now answer true, how did you get here?”

With a grimace Robb took a deep breath and began his tale of exploration. Finding a hidden door behind the wardrobe in his parent’s solar, following the winding branching path down to a large tunnel filled with ancient dragon skulls, before finding the exit next to the river the majority of the contestants were camping at just outside the pit. “And then I saw the arena at the other side of the camp and I just had to come and see if it was the Dragon Pit!”

Nothing of his face betrayed the thoughts currently flying through Ned Stark’s head, or the headache that was already beginning to grow. Finally a slow sigh escaped his lips. “Come along son, we best get back before your mother discovers you missing. Robert, by your leave I shall return this stray to his mother.”

“Go easy on the boy Ned, nothing wrong with a bit of adventure! But by all means, return him. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of Catelyn Starks sharp tongue! I’ll see you at the opening feast!”

With that the two Starks bowed to their King and took their leave, nodding to the guards that accompanied him, and starting the long trek back to their guest rooms at the Red Keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made a very minor change in the previous chapter, decided to have them meet at an opening feast for the games. I just couldn’t deprive us all the chance to see a young Joffrey.

Chapter 2

Lady Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell and wife of the Warden of the North, despised the Great Games, if such a barbaric ritual could be called great. She, lauded as a true genteel lady, could still not fathom how such a thing came to be, or how it became THE social event of the kingdom. Despite her husband’s insistence that the North hold an annual game for themselves, a tradition, she was told, that was just as old as the Great Games themselves, she was loathe to expose her children to the spectacle that would inhabit the Dragon Pit. Lords and smallfolk would fight together as if of equal stature, a truly laughable idea seeing as most small folk did not even know their numbers and letters, a feat even her small 5 year old Sansa was learning.

Gazing to her right, she studied her small daughter, taking in the paleness of her skin and bright copper tresses that adorned her head. ‘‘Tis like looking into my own reflection at that age,’ she thought, a small smile of pride tilting the corners of her mouth.

“Now, Sansa, be sure to keep your back straight as you do your needle work. A proper lady must never slouch like a common beggar woman.”

“Yes Mother.”

“Also, mind your stitching, you want small even stitches, not loose and jumbled threading.”

“Yes Mother.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Catelyn returned to her own work, a small favor for her lord husband in these games. Thin lips pinched together as she thought of her husband fighting in these games, while not purposefully lethal, men often died during the competition, a thought which only managed to sour her mood even more. The white square of cloth was bordered by a steel gray ribbon, proudly displaying her husband’s house colors. Her own neat stitching had rendered an almost completed howling Direwolf, the symbol of his great house, with small dancing trout along the edges, the sigil of her own family’s house. A few quick stitches along the muzzle of the beast finished her favor, allowing her a moment to admire the small and neat stitch, before she set about removing it from it’s small working loop.

“Mother, I’m done. Do you think Father will like it?” The small girl presented her work, nervously biting at her lower lip.

“A lady does not bite their lip Sansa.” A quick glance at her daughter’s work showed a rather clumsy four legged beast of some sort with head thrown back at a rather unnatural angle. “Ah, yes, I’m sure your father will be most pleased by it. After the evening meal, we shall return to our sewing and work on refining your stitching before focusing on your letters.”

A small wrinkled nose was her only reply before the Septa entered with little Arya, an already willful child that had not even reached her second name day. “Pardon me, my Lady, Nan has gone to fetch the mid-day meal for you and the children.”

“Yes, thank you Septa Roslin. Fetch Robb from the Lord’s solar and then you are dismissed to your own meal.”

“Thank you my Lady.” With a quick curtsy she was gone, well used to the polite but cold demeanor of her Lady.

“Come Sansa, we have just enough time to finish your father’s favor.” With a gentle hand she set the favor in her daughter’s cupped hands, bringing the small favor up to her small face. “Now, close your eyes and concentrate. See it in your mind, see the fish dancing, see the wolf throwing back his head and howling his victory. Can you see it?”

Glittering sapphire eyes scrunched tightly with all her might, her pale forehead wrinkling with her effort to imagine the wolf and fish moving. After a moment she nodded her head, “Yes Mother, I can see it!”

“Okay, now take a deep breath, focus on the image and gently blow. Use the push of your breath to weave the magic into the fabric. Feel it leave you with your breath and flow into the stitching.”

With all the effort she could manage, Sansa took a deep breath and slowly released, gently blowing across the fabric. With the moving images still in her mind, she pushed with all her might, trying to force her magic into the threads. Once out of breath she held her eyes closed, before cautiously peeking through one wary eye.

“Oh…” She was unable to hold back her disappointed sniffle at the stubbornly still image.

“It is alright Sansa, we will continue to work on it. You are young yet, though your magic is small, we may yet be able to coax enough for you to find a favorable match in the future.” With a quick exhale over the fabric, Catelyn watched as the wolf sprang to life, throwing his head back in a mighty howl. The fish joined in the victory howl, swimming and twirling along the edges. “Come now, Sansa, let us have our meal.”

With a nod of acknowledgment to Nan, Catelyn ushered her two daughters to the table, helping them both to sit and filling their plates. As she was preparing her own plate Robb burst through the door, followed quickly by Ned.

“Robb! Mind your manners!”

A sheepish agreement was all that met her ears before he set to the food like a starved wildling. With a fond, yet exasperated shake of her head, she turned her attention to her husband. “Is all well my Lord?”

“Yes my Lady, just preparing for the games.”

Sansa’s head popped up excitedly. “Can we watch the games too Father? Robb told me they were the grandest event ever! Can I go with you to see the Drago Pit tomorrow? Wha-”

”Sansa! A lady does not speak unless spoken to! Mind your questions, there is no need for you to ask such things.” A fierce frown marred Lady Catelyn’s otherwise lovely face, only deepening as she heard her husband’s response.

A deep laugh and fond smile accompanied his answer. “Now now Cat, be easy. She is still young yet. Of course you and your brother may watch the games my sweet girl. Though it is named the Dragon Pit. We can have a small tour of the arena tomorrow, before the opening ceremonies begin.”

“My Lord, are you sure? The Dragon Pit is no place for a lady, especially one so young.”

“Be calm my love, all will be well. I shall keep a close eye on our children. It is an important tradition that must be upheld and passed on. Our King has been kind enough to arrange the viewing box next to the royal box, for you and the children while I fight.”

A pursing of her lips was his only answer. A tired sigh escaped him as he sat to eat, an eager Arya anxiously reaching for him brought his smile back. Gathering her in his arms, he set to eating with renewed vigor.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Muted slashes of pinks and orange slowly made their appearances in the morning sky. The sun, not even peaking over the horizon, was already making it’s presence known to those few awake to see it. Ned basked in the cool morning air, breathing deep the freshness, before the heating of the sun encouraged the fetid stench of waste to permeate the air. Soft grumbles caress his ears even over the sounds of the camp waking up and preparing for the opening feast. Sansa gripped her father’s hand tightly as he lead them through camp, one small fist rubbing blearily at still sleepy eyes. Robb, though unhappy at how early they had to awake, was practically vibrating with excitement, unable to keep himself from flittering around their father, firing off any question that crossed his mind.

  
“How old do you have to be to fight in the games? Can I fight in them? Are you going to win? What do you get if you win? Are these like our games at Winterfell? Why do they last so long here? How come it’s so long between games? Can we really watch them? How-“

  
“Robb, please still your mind and breathe. I cannot answer if you do not give me time to.”

  
“Oh… Sorry Father.” Robb sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck before straightening and taking a deep breath.

  
Satisfied that he would not be interrupted, Ned began to answer what he could. “No you cannot fight in the games, you must be of age before you are allowed to enter. As I am a Lord and of a goodly age, it is my duty and honor to participate. When you are Lord of Winterfell, it will be your duty as well, for how can you expect your bannermen to fight for you, if you will not fight as well? These games are similar, in a way, to our own. However they are much larger, as fighters from all over Westeros have come, not just those from the North. Because there are some from all lands, that means there are many different styles and ways of fighting. As such, those that fight in similar manners shall fight until only the top handful remain, and so on until only the fiercest remain. From there it proceeds much like our games, men being separated into random groupings and each group getting smaller and smaller until there is but one winner. Only the King knows what the top prize is to be, but in the last games the prize was a sizeable purse and a knighthood.”

  
“Who won Father?” Sansa asked in a small voice, the thought of someone getting to become a knight just from winning a game sounded very silly to the young girl.

  
“Ser Jamie Lannister. He has since been appointed to the King’s Guard.”

  
“Why don’t they have the games every year like we do?”

  
“Well, that is because of how large the games are here. Here there are people from all over Westeros, and even a few from Essos and the Free Cities. With such far distances to travel, it would not be wise to hold them more often, the people would only ever be here and not at their own holdings. Lords are of no use if they are not on their lands governing as they should. With how vast the lands in the North are, it is sometimes difficult for those of marrying age to find fresh blood to strengthen their lines. Many a match has been struck at these times, ensuring the strength and survival of our people. Our games are an honored tradition that allow our men to hone their battle skills, win favor amongst their peers, and impress those that might ensure their family name lives on.”

”How come only the men fight? Nan told us that wildling women fight alongside their men.”

A great sigh stole itself from Lord Starks lungs. “Nan should take care of what stories she tells you. There have been times when wildling women have fought in wars with their men, but those times are long past. There have been no wars in many years, so there is no reason for them to fight anymore. The lands beyond the wall are a harsh place, the wildlings that have mastered this hard land have thrived beyond all odds. Theirs is a wild, raw way of life. I am sure that even now many of their women still wish to join the games  and prove the wildling lines are strong.”

Robb’s brows furrowed as he contemplated his father’s answers, a budding thought slowly taking root. “Did the wildling always join our games?”

”No, there has only been peace between us since my granfather’s time, and they only started to participate late in my father’s rule. Before you ask, no, no wildling has won as of yet.”

  
Finally having trekked their way through the sea of tents and campfires, Ned presented them with their first view of the arena just as the sun broke over the horizon. “The Dragon Pit.”

  
A small squeak and a muffled thump was his answer as Sansa hit the ground. Quick to spring up, she began dusting off her skirts, a bright blush staining her cheeks. A hearty laugh escaped Ned to join in Robbs snickers. “There there now Sansa. I’m afraid you won’t see the top, now matter how far back you tilt. Come along now, we’re going to the box you will be sitting at during the opening of the games.”

  
“Does that mean Mother is allowing us to watch them? She won’t answer when I ask.”

  
“Well Robb, for now, you will only see the opening festivities. Your mother does not want you watching the fights themselves unless one of us is with you, and you know your mother shall not be viewing them. You will have to wait until I am no longer participating and can sit with you.”

 

The great coliseum was more than Robb had ever told her it was. She was sure the Red Keep itself could fit inside it’s walls! Firmly gripping the hem of her father’s tunic, Sansa tried to keep up, even with her eyes wildly looking around, drinking in every sight. There were balconies overlooking the area, and entire great rooms ready to host their guests. And stairs, so many stairs. So many stairs that she had to have her father carry her the rest of the way to the box the King gave them for viewing.

  
“From here you will be sitting next to the King and his family, so you must be on your best behavior. Do not forget your courtesies!”

  
“Yes Father.””Yes Father.”

  
Several men were already on the arena floor warming up, swinging practice blades and checking shields. Lord Stark looked upon them, wishing to join and gain a few more hours of practice. His chances of sparring had been few and far between during the journey to King’s Landing, and he felt sorely out of practice. Upon spying them one of the men broke away from the others and moved closer to the seating area.

  
“Lord Stark, would you care to spar with us?”

  
Jory Cassel, the head of the guard at Winterfell, bowed and wished his Lord, Little Lord, and Small Lady a good morning.

  
“That would be most appreciated Jory. Robb, watch your sister until I return. Do not leave this box.” After ensuring the compliance of both his children, Lord Stark made his way through the maze of corridors and stairs to join the sparring matches.

  
Barely waiting long enough for their father to turn the corner, Robb whipped around to look at Sansa with a mischievous grin. “Want to go back to the camp and look around?”

  
“But Robb, Father said to stay here.”

  
“Oh come on, there is nothing to see here. Or is wittle Lady Sansa too much of a little baby to go exploring?”

  
“Don’t call me that!”

  
“Or what?”

  
“I’ll tell Father when he gets back!”

  
“By the Gods Sansa, he’s going to be busy for hours! He won’t even notice! You can stay here alone if you want, but I’m going back to the camp to look around.”

  
Watching Robb walk away, Sansa fretted, wringing her hands for a few seconds before gathering her skirts and following her brother. “If we get in trouble I’m telling Mother it was your idea!”

  
Finding their way back to the camps was relatively easy, though they almost ended up going down the wrong hall on the ground level. The morning light filtered through the sparse cloud cover and lit the camp as the smell of cook fires filled the air, men and women were scattered as preparations for the day and its festivities began. Sansa couldn’t help but notice how few children were here, “Robb? How come there aren’t more kids?”

  
“I guess cause not that many women came, and the men don’t have time to mind them.”

  
“What are we going to do then?”

  
“Um, come on. I think I see some Northern banners!”

 

A head of dark curls followed the two, curious dark grey eyes taking in their forms and lingering on the long red tresses of the girl. Pale nostrils flared, breathing deep the scents of the camp and the people within in. Honing in on the two he wanted, he began following them at a sedate pace, trying to place where those two were from. From the faint scent of cold and snow, he would guess they were from the North, though not the far North like him.

  
“What are you doing?”

  
Whipping around in shock, Sansa let out a squeak at the presence of the boy, his patchwork of furs clearly idendtifying him as a wildling. Robb was quick to grab her hand, eyeballing the newcomer with a blantant distrust.

  
“We’re exploring, who are you?”

  
“I’m Jon, and that’s my father’s tent. Who are you? You smell of the North.”

  
“Smell? What do you mean?”

  
“Hush Sansa! We didn’t know any Wildlings were coming to the Great Games, why are you here?”

  
He shrugged, “My father has taken part of the last two games, so why wouldn’t we come? And we’re not Wildlings, we’re Free Folk.”

  
“Free Folk? I’ve never heard you called that before.”

”Robb! Nan called them Free Folk when she told us stories!”

”Sansa! Hush!”

  
“Aye, Free Folk. Not that you Southern Kneelers talk to us much, do ya? Don’t have much to do with those beyond the wall outside the games, do you?

  
A small blush covered Sansa’s cheeks as she shook her head. “No, but we’re not Southern, we’re of the North.”

  
Smirking he quipped, “Anyone south of the Wall is southern to the Free Folk. So what are you two Southern ladies called?”

  
“Ladies?!”

  
Bright giggles were Robb’s only answer, Sansa having to quickly cover her mouth to try and stop them. The dark haired boy grinned, sharp canines peeking over his full bottom lip, bowing with a flourish to the two.

  
A shy smile lit Sansa’s small face. “You’re funny! My name is Sansa, and this is my older brother Robb. What’s your name?”

  
“Jon.”

  
“Do you want to explore with us?”

  
“Sansa! You can’t just invite him to join us, we don’t even know who he is!”

  
“He’s Jon.”

  
Robb’s mouth gaped uselessly, uncomprehending how his prim and proper little lady of a sister was so at ease with the boy so quickly and unhappy at how easily the other boy was able to poke fun at him. With a dismissive sniff he turned his head and nose up. “Fine, since you seem to know the camp, you can come with us I suppose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful Kudos and the comments! If you spot a mistake please let me know so that I can fix it!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Jon beckoned them forward towards the largest makeshift dwelling that Sansa or Robb had ever seen. Despite its large size, it appeared to be made entirely of animal furs, a complicated patchwork that looked both chaotic and meticulous in design. Sansa was sure it would have filled the entirety of the great hall of Winterfell with not but a few breaths to spare. There was but a handful of normal sized fur lined tents around the front of it, their sizes looking almost childlike in comparison. A single grey banner hung atop each tent, their image a single crying weirwood tree topped by a black crow wearing a golden crown. It was the banner of the King Beyond the Wall, and it left the two Stark children feeling slightly uneasy. They had been told numerous tales of the infamous King Crow, the first King Beyond the Wall in thousands of years, and none of which could agree upon his origins or how he united the wildling tribes.

Despite the seeming lack of cook fires, the children could smell the scent of roasting game, tinged by the smokiness of the Southern wood, but rich in the flavor of their beloved Northern herbs and spices. As with most children, their curiosity and their stomachs overrode and doubts they may have had of following Jon inside the large tent. Sansa could not stop the gaping of her mouth when she took in the site once inside, a whole network of wooden branches all tied together and making the inside look like a fur covered cage. Not even Robb could help but stare and breathe out a weak, “How?”

With a slightly smug grin Jon was quick to answer. “It’s the wood. Young evergreen is strong, but supple. If you cut it at the right time, it makes light but sturdy base. Then you just cover it, and there you go, a shelter that is easy to move but strong enough to survive the Norther snow storms.”

”What’s tied to the branches?”

”Those are our supplies. Food, water, cloth, clothing, you name it and it is in there.”

A curious frown planted itself upon Sansa’s small face, her bottom lip sneaking between her teeth to be chewed upon while she thought. “What’s she doing?”

Following her gaze the boys observed one of the women humming to the largest cook fire located in the middle of the structure, large hunks of game on spits slowly turned as the flames rose and fell small sparks flying free and seeming to dance along the meat before diving back into the fire. Sansa was mesmerized as she watched the flames and sparks dance to the woman’s humming, her own small body beginning to sway to the song as her own voice joined in, unheard by any but Jon. A quick glance at her eyes showed nothing of the deep river blue they had been, instead they seemed to faintly glow a blue so true it would rival the deepest blue of the Wall itself. A sudden flare of the fire broke the spell, the woman quick to tend to the meat as Sansa blinked and shook her head.

”That, little one, is one of the fire tamers. Only those of the Free Folk that are kissed by fire are able to do this.” Jon’s gaze was intense as he took her in, letting nothing escape his notice. Despite the light filtering in from the openings, Sansa seemed to be touched only by the fire light, her hair a soft copper outside seemed to dance in the light of the fire appearing almost as dark as the blood red of the weirwood leaves. “In a land of nothing but ice and snow, they are a great blessing for our people and are held in high regards.”

”Well she can’t be that good if it got away from her,” Robb snorted in disbelief.

”Don’t be mean Robb! She did good!”

”Oh hush Sansa, you just say that cause you still can’t get your stitches to move. Little Sansa can’t even muster up the magic to make a wolf howl. A real magic user wouldn’t mess up like that, especially not after they’re grown!”

”Shut up Robb! You’re a meanie!” A small foot stamped the ground. “You’re still learning too, so you can’t say anything! Father said you dropped your shield while sparring last week!”

”Yeah, whatever.” Robb scoffed, not wanting the hear anymore from his little sister embarrass him, especially not in front fo the wildling boy. “Let’s go see some of the other camps! We can see North camps anytime, lets go see the Dornish camps! I heard Dorne is so hot, that they walk around naked at home!”

Jon was unsure about venturing so far from his father’s camp, but didn’t want to leave those two to their own devices. While he was starting to like Robb, he seemed a bit reckless and naive for a High Lord’s heir, and looked to be used to dragging a protesting Sansa along behind him. “I guess. It will need to be quick though. Most of the men are preparing for the opening ceremonies and are harsh to those that get underfoot.”

”Fine fine, let’s go!”

Pointing him towards the large Dornish party Jon let Robb take the lead, he was far more interested in observing Sansa then looking for trouble in another camp. She had surprised him back at the tent, he could smell the faint trace of power in her scent, but he had not expected it to manifest as it had. Fire taming had always been a skill held only by the Free Folk, for it to show in a Southerner, with such diluted blood as hers, was unheard of. He would have to tell his father, he just wished he knew what the old crow would make of it.

The vibrant oranges, reds and yellows of the Dornish camp had just just come into view when trouble found them. A small group of men, already deep into their cups despite the early hour, had spotted the trio and made to block their path. “Now what are three wee youngins doin wanderin round here? Boys, me thinks they’re lost! Now we wouldn’t want such pretty little things like you to wander into the wrong hands, now would we?”

The speakers leer told Jon all he needed to know of these men. His upper lip curled, flashing his sharp elongated canines, even as he held his snarl at bay. A firm pull on Sansa’s dress had her moved behind him, even as Robb puffed up his chest and tried to stare the drunk man down. “We are not lost, nor do we need your help.”

Sansa whimpered at the words her brother spoke, face buried into the back of Jon’s fur vest. A small vibration tickled her fingers and the end of her nose, and it took a minute for her to realize it was coming from Jon. Jon, who could not have been much older then her own brother, was growling! She didn’t even know people could growl.

“Well well well, looky what we have here boys. Don’t need our help, do ya boy? Well I think that pretty little girl ya got with you does. Now why don’t you hand her over real nice like? We wouldn’t want you to get hurt, and we promise not to hurt her. Much. We just wants to play with her a bit, ain’t that right boys?” Raucous cheering from his friends had the man grinning and confidently striding forward, a hand out stretched to grab onto the sleeve of her dress.

Before he had even managed to touch fabric, his hand was violently knocked away, long slashes gouged deep into the back of it. The growl that had been silent now filled the air, words forced between clenched teeth. “You will not touch her!” Full fangs were now bared in challenge to the man, daring him to try again.

Crying out in pain, the man clutched his injured hand. “You fucking wildling freak! Get him! Get him!” Little encouragement was needed for his friends to stumble forward, each eager for bloodshed and to beat the wildling boy into submission.

The sound of honed steel rent the air. “Stop this at once! What is the meaning of this?!” The deep authorative voice halted the advance of the men, and the sight of seven drawn swords had them quickly retreating, shoving each other in order to get away as quickly as possible.

Eddard Stark snorted in disgust of the craven men as they ran, watching until they disappeared amongst the scattered tents. Signaling his men to sheath their swords he turned to his children, a deep scowl already fixed upon his face. “Robb. Sansa. This is not the viewing box I told you to remain in.”

A trembling Sansa dashed out from behind Jon, crying out for her father as she wrapped her small body around his legs. Small sobs shook her slight frame. “Robb said we would be right back, but he was just going to leave me and I didn’t want to be by myself and he said we were just going to go see the Notherners’ tents but then he wasn’t happy because it was just some Free Folk and we saw a lady tame fire and then the fire shot up and he was rude and then he said we were going to go look at the Dorne camp and then those men showed up and they said all these horrible things and Robb just made them mad but Jon protected me and-“

A gentle hand rested upon her head, rough fingers lovingly brushing through her hair. “Be calm Sansa. That is quite the adventure. Now I am sure your brother would not have left you alone. Robb.”

“No Father.” Was the meek reply. Robb stood beside Jon, his head bowed under the stern glare of his father.

“We will be discussing this back at the keep, and then you shall explain to your mother everything that happened today. Do I myself clear?”

”Yes Father.”

”Now who is this lad?”

Sansa perked up at the mention of Jon. “This is Jon! He saved me!” She chimed helpfully. “He’s a Free Folk!”

Lord Starks gaze cut quickly to Jon. “I see. Are you of the Free Folk lad?”

Jon’s eyes met his, not challenging but intense in their regard. “Yes Sir.”

“What be your name boy?”

“Jon Rayder, and you are Lord Stark, are you not?”

“Aye, that I am Jon. As Lord Stark and a father, I thank you for protecting my children.”

Jon only managed a small shrug. “They were drunk, wouldn’t have been much of a fight. But we know those type, they like to try to raid the settlements along our coasts, to hear them talk a wildling, or a red head, will fetch a handsome price in the slave markets.”

“I see. We will be keeping an eye out for them while we are here then. Perhaps it is best for us to return you to your camp before we return to the Keep.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nehya is pronounced Née-yuh.

Jon was unsure of how much of the altercation Lord Stark had seen. Had he viewed most of it and was simply seeing how they handled themselves, but to what purpose? Or, had he only caught the tail end of it, and stepped in promptly? Already he was somewhat underwhelmed by the Lord, the tales of his past skills as a warrior seemed to eclipse those of his current skills as a father. He had not even known the Stark children a half day’s time and already could tell that Robb would not have stayed where he was put, and little Sansa would follow him. Now, if she went with him because she was goaded into it or dreaded being left alone, he had yet to determine. She seemed to crave company and refused to walk anywhere but beside someone. Currently she seemed quite content next to him, humming a small nonsensical little tune and stealing glances his way when she could. Robb was planted firmly at Lord Stark’s side, the longing looks tossed their way being the only sign of the lecture Lord Stark was imparting upon his heir.

”Why did you make a growly noise when that man tried to grab me?”

Somewhat pleased that Sansa seemed to no longer be content with only glances, Jon was still unsure as to how to answer her without telling her his suspicions. “Er-I... Uh... I did not want him to touch you.”

”Oh. People can’t growl though. I tried when one of Father’s hunting dogs stole my lemon cake, but I couldn’t make the sound right and our Maester said it wasn’t something humans could do.”

”He’s right, for the most part. Normal humans cannot growl the same as an animal, although there are some that are good at imitating the sounds of beasts.”

Sansa was quiet for a few moments, head tilted to the side and gaze fixed forward. “You didn’t want him to grab me, so you tried to sound like a dog and growled? Is that how all Free Folk behave?”

A gentle chuckle fell from his lips. “I don’t try to sound like a dog. I am one of the Beast Mages of the Free Folk. From the time of our birth, Beast Mages are given an affinity for, and some characteristics of, our Gods given animal. As we age these change and grow depending on our skills and what we value until we reach our maturity, at which time whatever traits we share with our animals becomes permanent.”

”What animal are you then?”

”The Gods blessed me with the direwolves as my animal.”

”That’s my house’s symbol!”

”Yes it is.”

”I’ve never seen one before, are they really real? Do they really get as big as ponies?”

”Direwolves have not traveled south of the Wall in hundreds of years, so it is not surprising that you have not seen one. They tend to stay away from our camp sites, but we do see them from time to time. I can usually find a pack of them when I go out to learn scouting with some of our hunters. I have seen the pelt of a large fully grown male that was as large as a war horse!”

“No!” Sansa was quick to catch up with her father and brother, tugging eagerly at her father’s hand. “Father! Father! Jon said that direwolves can get as big as a war horse!”

”Aye, that they can, though only the oldest tend to reach that size.” The deep voice that replied was unknown to all but Jon, who calmly walked around the three Starks to stand at the side of his father. “Jon, I trust all is well?”

”Yes Father.”

Mance Rayder was an imposing man, despite his average height. Dark grey eyes were shrewd and sharp, piercing those they looked upon and seeming to hunt for every fault or weakness. It was easy to see where Jon’s dark hair came from, though there was not a curl to be seen on his father’s head, just straight locks tied back at the top, the ends just barely brushing his shoulders. A deep shadow of beard growth adorned his face, accompanying a scowl that looked as if it never left.

”Lord Stark.”

”Your Grace.”

A respectful nod was shared between the two.

”I see you have already met my heir, Jon Rayder, Prince Beyond the Wall and of the Free Folk.”

”That we have. Allow me to introduce my two oldest children. Robb, my heir and future Warden of the North, and my eldest daughter Sansa.”

Even after hours of the strictest training by their mother and their Septa, Robb just barely managed an appropriate bow, his greeting teetering on the edge of disrespectful. Sansa however, was the perfect lady, her curtsy flawless and her soft voice conveying the proper greetings eloquently.

”If you will excuse us Your Grace, we must return to our rooms in the Red Keep and prepare for the opening ceremonies.”

”Of course Lord Stark. Thank you for returning my heir to me.”

The King Beyond the Wall was gifted with a short bow before the Warden of the North led his children away. Mance viewed them as they moved out of sight before turning to his son.

”Is their a reason you were with the Warden of the North and his children?”

Jon followed his father back into their large tent and over to an unoccupied seating area around a small fire. “I found Robb and Sansa unaccompanied in our camp, their father had told them to remain in their viewing box in the arena while he sparred. From what I gathered, Robb was unwilling to just sit around and taunted his sister into following him as he explored the camps.”

”I see. What did you think of the Future Warden of the North?”

”He seems rather prideful, and ignorant of the harshness of the world and the dangers that lurk.”

A sharp gaze settled onto Jon. “Dangers. What dangers did you three manage to find in the short time you were gone?”

Silently cursing himself for his choice of words, Jon took a steadying breath before answering. “There was a small group of five men, drunks, that decided Sansa would make a fun companion for a time, though they also seemed to think Robb and myself would be a spot of fun as well.”

A deep frown was his only answer.

”Lord Stark came upon us before they were able to do too much besides make rude comments.”

”And what did they manage to do?”

”It was only one man. He reached for Sansa, but I did not allow him to touch her.”

”I see... And why would you care if harm befell her?”

”Nehya was tending the fire when they were in the tent. The fire flared.”

Cringing at the glare settled on him, he was quick to continue, even if he was still unsure of what he saw. “It flared only after Sansa began humming.”

Mance sat up straight, his eyes searching Jon’s, trying to find any falsehood in what his son was telling him. Fire Taming had always been a magic exclusive to the Free Folk, to hear his son suspect a Southerner to have that gift left him at a loss. This would need careful consideration, and the girl would need to be watched. “These games in the Capital are long, and I want you to observe this girl. I want you to befriend the Stark heir and watch the girl for any other signs she has our magic and report back to me as soon as you can. If it was not just a fluke, we shall have to consider all possibilities before moving forward. Do you understand?”

”Yes Father.”

 

”Why did that man call Jon a prince?”

”That man was Mance Rayder, King Beyond the Wall and of the Free Folk, and he was Jon’s father. As such, that makes Jon a prince.”

Robb didn’t even try to contain his huff. “He’s not a prince of the Seven Kingdoms.”

”Robb. Show some respect. You should have been taught this by the Maester in Winterfell. The North beyond the wall is not considered part of the Seven Kingdoms. Since the wall was built it has always been a kingdom unto it’s own, though they have had no king until Jon’s grandfather united the wildling tribes and named himself king.”

”He’s barely a prince!”

”Do not be so sure, the wildling tribes had been separate for almost eight thousand years, it is no small feat to unite them. Even now ther are several tribes that still feud and peace is strained.”

”Robb’s just upset cause Jon knew more then he did and he told us we’d find trouble if we went to see the other camps.”

”He did not know more then me! He just knew different things, it’s not the same thing! And we would have been just fine!”

”We were lucky Father found us.”

”That’s... We... Oh be quiet.”

Eddard Stark’s deep laugh followed his squabbling ghildren through the gate leading into the Red Keep. While he was certain that no true harm would have befallen the children, he had no wish to injure further wrath from his feisty Tully bride. Sheparding the children into a small alcove in the hallway near their rooms Lord Stark lowered himself to one knee, gazing at each of children in their Tully blue eyes.

”As much as your adventure today has vexed me, we shall not being telling your mother anything about it. All we did today was tour the camps and arena, where I had a quick sparring match and you both stayed where I could see you. If we should happen to meet the wildlings again, we will simply tell her that we met them while touring the camp together. Am I understood?”

”Yes Father.” “Yes Father.”

”Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg... I love Ned so I feel so horrible about how I write him! Then again, I can’t be sure if I love Ned for Ned or because he is played by Sean Bean. I am a show only person right now, I swear I’ll read the books as soon as my kid gets out of the paper eating stage... And the iPad stealing stage... I’m doomed to never read a good book again, I just know it!
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments! They really bring a smile to my face and put me in the mood to write more!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am so sorry that it took this long to post the next chapter. I really don’t have any excuse beyond writers block and hectic home life. Here’s to hoping that the block has finally been broken.

Small delicate fingers brushed along emerald green fabric, tracing the intricate filigree stitching that ran along the neckline of the new gown. Curious eyes danced along the stitching, following the whirls of thread as it seemed to dance across her shoulders and chest.

”Sansa! Stop fidgeting and stand up straight.” Lady Catelyn frowned at her eldest daughter, even as she snapped back into the position the seamstress had put her in. The seamstress continued her work, delicately weaving the black thread into the final touches. With a final tug and snip the seamstress bowed to the two ladies and made her way out. The critical eye of her mother seemed to search for any imperfection, lips thinned and eyes narrowed she offered a soft, “Well... I suppose that shall do.” 

Avid eyes watched as her mother trailed a finger over the different sets of embroidery on her dress, watching as the stitching came to life and flowed and danced gracefully around her figure. “As your magic grows you will find many ways in which to use it. Breathing magic onto things is the most common method of enchanting, but for those that are skilled enough, a touch can do the same thing.”

Sansa watched her mother intently as she inspected her own gown, trying to see how the magic flowed from her mother and into the fabric, trying to imagine the feel of her magic as it traveled through her and into something else. She shook her head softly, chasing away her thoughts as she turned her attention back to her speaking mother, listening as she was told how she was to act and behave at the feast tonight and what was expected of them.

 

* * *

As expected, the great dining hall of the Red Keep was filled to the brim with revelers, every possible seat taken and so many people standing and moving around that it seemed hard to breath. Foods from all over Westeros were piled high atop platters that seemed never ending, each one seeming to be refilled anytime someone even looked at it. Servants scurried around, refilling cups and plates, replacing old bread with new. Dancers flittered in and out of the hall, making use of the grand ballroom and the lively musicians, before returning to again gorge themselves. The festive atmosphere was felt throughout King’s Landing, most of the common folk celebrating and feasting in any space available, and those left in the competitors campsites were happy to eat and drink themselves into a stupor.

Despite this lavish and festive atmosphere, one small girl was not enjoying the merriment. Lady Catelyn’s sharp tongue lashed against Sansa’s poor ears from the other side of her brother.  _A Lady must take small bites Sansa. Chew your food thoroughly with you mouth closed Sansa. A Lady must not gorge herself Sansa, a true Lady must be delicate. Sit up straight Sansa, a Lady’s back must never touch the back of her chair._ The reprimands circled her mind even as she sipped at her honeyed milk. Robb seemed immune to their mother’s remarks, practically falling upon his food with the same enthusiasm as the King himself, although Robb at least seemed to chew with his mouth closed.

At a nearby table, distinguished from the others by it’s placement upon a small platform, the King and his family observed the festivities taking place around them. The King ignored all but the food in front of him, stopping only long enough to pinch the behind of whichever serving wench tended to them. The Queen seemed intent on ignoring her husband, ordering the steward closest to them to continue refreshing her glass of wine, her cold green eyes surveying those around them even as she slumped back against her seat. The dull green eyes of the boy next to her seemed focused solely on the young redhead. The longer his gaze rested upon her, the more covetous they became. At only nine years old, the Crown Prince was well known amongst the servants as a cruel and sadistic child.

Seeing his mother deep into her cups, Joffery took this opportunity to leave the table, slowly making his way to the table of the Starks. He took his time, waiting for Lord and Lady Stark to rise and head to the ballroom before going near. Wearing his most gracious smile, Joffery sauntered up to the two young Starks. “Quite the event tonight, is it not?”

While both looked to him, it was only Robb who answered. “That it is my Prince.”

Joffery’s smile quickly became an ugly sneer. “Are Northmen too savage to bow to their Prince?”

Sansa shot her brother a startled look, joining him as he stood and then bowed. Dipping into her best curtsy, Sansa gave a soft apology.

Joffery watched them for several minutes, delighting in their struggle to maintain their poses, before allowing them to rise. “I suppose that will do. You’ll need to work on that once I become King, or the Stark’s will not hold Winterfell for long. Though there is not much need of the North, a land full of nothing but savages and beasts.”

Robb squeezed Sansa’s hand, even as he had to bite his own tongue. The Prince seemed to not notice their stiffening postures and clenched fists, too enthralled with telling them everything that was wrong with their homeland.

Across the room from the three, a set of sharp gray eyes observed the confrontation, growing slightly worried as the Stark children seemed to vibrate in anger. Glancing only briefly at the still talking Prince, the eyes instead focused on the small redhead, taking in the tightly balled fists, the clenched jaw and short sharp breaths. The flickering of the candles near them drew the observers attention. Every candle in the room seemed to be flickering, flames bending as if from a strong breeze, each point seeming drawn to the small girl.

”Do you see it Father?”

The eyes glanced briefly to the small boy beside him before returning to the girl. “Aye Jon, I see it. We shall need to watch her closely as she grows. For the gift to present this strongly in one so young, it is not something anyone in our clan has seen in many years.”

Jon nodded slowly, his own eyes trained upon Sansa as the Prince finally wandered away. “How do we do that? Should we not tell the Starks? To least that gift untrained could be very dangerous.”

Despite the flames returning to normal, Mance Rayder seemed steeped in shadow as he frowned. “No. There is too much bad blood between the Northmen and the Free Folk, Lord Stark would not believe us, nor trust us to train his daughter. Instead... I believe it is time for our people to begin particiapating more heavily in the Northern Games. You shall train with our warriors and join them at the games. When you are there, I want you to befriend the Stark children, but pay special attention to the girl. Teach them our ways, but make sure you do not draw too much attention on yourself from the Lord and Lady Stark.”

”Yes Father.”

”Make sure you speak with the Fire Tamers, you will need to begin her training until such a time that she may learn from them herself.”

Jon gazed at Sansa, imagining her in the furs of the Free Folk, hair flying free of the restrictive Southron braids. His gaze sharpened at the mental image, solidifying his resolve. What better prize, then to steal the Warden of the North’s daughter right out from under him?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I can’t say the wait times between chapters is going to get any better. I can promise that this story will not be abandoned, I’ve run across lots of those in my fanfic reading and they drive me crazy.

The feasting seemed to never end, the adults too distracted by food, drink and dance to pay any attention to the numerous children that had given up following the strict etiquette that normally dominated their lives. Groups of young men and boys ventured from room to room, try valiantly to seem oblivious to the gossiping and giggling girls that huddled in corners, each excitedly whispering to one another whenever one of the boys looked their way.

Not wanting to waste the evening stewing in the foul mood Joffery left him in, Robb eyed the groups of boys, trying to find the one the Prince had joined. Spotting the Prince with a large group in the far corner, Robb quickly rose from his seat, tossing a distracted order to stay at the table to Sansa as he made his way to a group of boys his age that were leaving the room.

Sansa's protests fell upon deaf ears, the back of her brother already disappearing into the crowd. A small humph left her as she glared sullenly at the table in front of her. A pout worked its way to her lips, she didn't want to be stuck at the table, it wasn't fair that Robb got to venture off and she was stuck here. It was all that stupid Joffery’s  fault! If he hadn’t come over and been so... stupid, then Robb wouldn’t have left her at the stupid table. Glaring blue eyes turned to her golden plate, pushing all her frustration in her glare. Minutes passed and nothing changed, nothing except the frustration turning to sadness. She didn’t want to be the only one without magic, even stupid Arya had made a bowl of sweets move closer, obviously taking after the Stark’s affinity with metals.

* * *

 

The conversation between Jon and his father faded, the feast and drink not lending themselves to serious topics. Jon’s eyes could no help but continue to stray towards Sansa, how had meeting one little girl changed so much? The Free Folk valued their independence, trading and interacting as little as possible with those South of the Wall. Only a small number of men ever went South, most using the Northern Games as a chance to find a wife of fresh blood for their clans. The long history of conflict between those on either side of the Wall leant more to an air of suspicion and rivalry, than any sort of camaraderie. From all the clans, only a small handful from each had even ventured to Kings Landing with their King. Jon wondered how many would now venture to Winterfell with their King’s encouragement.

The sight of Robb leaving and joining a group of young boys drew him from his thoughts. Turning his attention to Sansa, Jon watched as her frustration affected the candles near her. As the flames shrank, seeming to pull into themselves to be as small as possible, he excused himself from his Father and made his way over to her. A quick assessment had him plopping ungracefully into her brother’s seat, one elbow going to the table and his cheek resting on a fist.

”What has you so sad? They leave all the good cakes off your table?”

Clear blue eyes gazed wonderingly at him, “Jon!” With her distraction the room seemed to brighten again, once dim candles gaining new life and glowing happily, their flames dancing merrily.

”Sansa!” Grinning Jon pulled a dessert plate closer, winking at her as a plucked a pair of the small cakes and joyfully presented her one. “Much better! It seems you have all the good cakes over here after all! None of the cakes at my table look near so yummy.”

A giggle was his only answer, a small hand snatching the offered cake and bringing it quickly to it’s owners mouth. A gentle hum of happiness graced his ears as he watched her take a second larger bite. “Now, with all these cakes and such pretty music, why were you so upset my Little Lady?”

Her tiny nose scrunched up, “It was that stupid Joffrey. He’s just so stupid! He was making fun of us being from the North!”

”How did he do that?”

”He said we were nothing but savages! And he said once he was King the Starks wouldn’t have Winterfell anymore. Mother says Princes become Kings and real Ladies dream of marrying Princes, but I don’t think he’s a Prince! I think he’s a... a... a wormy little frog! And I don’t want to marry a frog!”

Jon had to bite his lip, her little rant had him wanting to bust out laughing. That she was smart enough to see what a slimy creature the Prince was was a huge boon. He hoped that he could ensure her opinion of Joffrey didn’t change as the years passed, though it sounded like her Mother wanted a match with the Prince. He’d have to confer with his Father on how best to keep that from happening. He couldn’t imagine anyone being happy tied to that stuck up little coward, he had heard whisperings amongst the castle staff of the Prince’s unstable and cruel behavior.

 _Speak of the devil and he shall appear._ Joffrey seemed to be making his way back over here, no doubt noticing the lack of Robb and adults. Unwilling to suffer his presence anymore then strictly necessary, Jon jumped on the first idea that came to mind. “My Lady Sansa, would you like to dance?”

It seemed her little rant and devolved into muttererings and sharp jabs of her fork into a piece of lamb still on her plate. At his question she paused, looking at him with large eyes. “Really?”

”Yes really.”

”No one but Robb has every asked me to dance, and that’s because Mother made him.”

”Well, that is their loss. Would you like to dance?”

”Yes!”

Eagerly she gripped his larger hand, letting him lead them from the room. He watched smugly from the corner of his eye as Joffrey was waylaid by a group of girls, all giggling and preening before him, despite his pout. Finding a ballroom that wasn’t too full of dancers or drunken adults proved to be slightly difficult. Finally finding one of the smaller ballrooms he lead them to an out of the way corner.

”Now we dance My Lady.”

Giggling she curtsied as he bowed, taking his hand and letting him lead them around their little corner. He tried to keep them moving smoothly, using more of his swordplay footwork then he thought he would to keep them from tripping over each other. They soon found a rhythm of movement together that let them relax, no longer focusing on their feet and just moving to the music, Jon sometimes surprising her with simple spins that had her laughing and clapping her hands.

Robb found them after a few more songs, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall as they listened to the music and commenting on the dancers as they passed.

”Sansa! I told you to stay at the table!”

* * *

 

Robb scowled at Jon, blaming him for Sansa not being where he left her.

”That’s not fair! You were supposed to stay at the table too!”

With a groan Robb joined them on the floor. “I know, I just couldn’t sit around and wait for Joffrey to come back and rub his position in our faces again.”

”Well Jon saved me when he was coming back after he saw you were gone!”

Wincing, Robb side eyed Jon, sighing when the other boy nodded at Sansa’s telling of things. “Fine. Thank you for keeping that jerk away from my sister.”

”Your welcome.”

Quiet settled over the small group. Sansa didn’t like the quiet after the fun she had had with Jon. Picking up on their shared dislike of Joffrey she lead with the first thought that entered her head. “I still think he looks like a toad with worms for lips!”

Shocked silence followed her statement before both boys fell over, gripping their stomachs and laughing. Gasping for breath they concurred, each adding to the lovely description of Joffrey.


End file.
